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Makin’ it Mo – Movember 2016

Making a mo of it. Mo’in it over. Mo big or mo home. Movember. Ahhhhh. That divinely moustachian time of year when mo-everything is somehow kosher and upper lip fuzz becomes a rallying cry for health among men folk the world over.

What to expect

But is this any different to other years? Well, I’m glad you asked. Two things. A) Ye old NaBloPoMo. And 2. what I’m calling #MoSober.

A) means that there will posts here everyday of November—unpolished and off the cuff bloggery. It’s a motorvator. No style guides or shit like that. You can correct my grammar in the comments. A few curse words for good measure. And a healthy dose of honesty. Can’t write well when you’re trying focus on form too much. Let it go. Let it mo.

2. means that we ain’t gonna drink. I.e. I’m mo’ sober than ye. Inspiration for this idea came this morning when I mindlessly wandered the halls of Facebook. I clicked on a blog link from Ariel Kiley, a old friend from high school living in New York as a fitness instructor. I’m not expecting stars to exit their orbit, but hell, it’s a good time to quit shit for a bit. I quit smoking cigarettes (for the third time!) two years ago Nov. 1. That was a powerful moment. Let’s see what happens this time. Thanks, Ariel!

If you’ve gotten this far, you’re probably a close relative or someone who’s already watched their quota of cat videos for the day. For that, I thank you. Or you have the attention span of a ninja goat let loose in a botanical garden. Setting the tone of this bloggery to ‘goat’. People need more goats in their lives.

Joking aside, the moral here is: if you’re a dude, get yourself checked. If you’re not a dude, encourage other dudes to take care of themselves or get checked. Too many dudes die young. Some of this is preventable.

If you do any of that because you read this blog post, it’s all been worth it. Movember in a nutshell.

But let’s be honest, it’s a bittersweet time of year for many. Some are fighting for their lives and this is their way to show support. Some are long gone, but not forgotten. Some are coming to the bracing realization that they can’t grow a mustache any more than tits on a tractor can produce milk. Life.

Dad died November 22, 2014. What a hell of a time that was, in all literal senses of the expression. I mention this because he was half way through his second go (mo) at Movember. Forever burned in my mind is the image of my father lying in a casket (that my brothers and I built for him before cremation) at Ready Funeral Home, dressed in a brown suit, expressionless, cold, with just a prickly a white fuzz on his upper lip.

The picture below is more telling of the level of crumb catcher the man cultivated.

He’s been gone for two years, but hell, it feels like yesterday. Hurts are slow to heal when they happen real fast. There wasn’t time to say this or that. Just bam. Gone. (You can read a Father’s Day reflection on it all here).

He is still missed and remembered well. On October 1, 2016, we finally got him a final resting place in Orford, New Hampshire, where he was born. We had a good group of locals telling yarns about him (or filling in gaps) and hired a bagpiper to see him away in style. The man himself would have had a tear drip from his glass eye listening to that piper play Amazing Grace.

It’s not going to be polished, but it’s going to be honest. Here we go. One month of bloggery. One month of sobriety. Make it mo. Make it #onemomonth.

To conclude, here is a picture of my father ushering a small turtle to the other side of the road. The man had a big heart.